Plane Crash
by ijustwanttobeabritishman
Summary: Flight 5912 on route to the London City Airport. Crashed early in the morning. All 85 passengers have been reported dead. Sherlock's breath catches in his throat. John was on that flight.


Sherlock pales as he listens to the words on the telly. _A plane on route to the London City Airport crashed early this morning; all 85 passengers have been reported dead, but the two pilots ejected before the plane made impact. The plane's flight number has been reported as 5912. _Sherlock's breath leaves him. John was on that plane.

Sherlock switches off the telly immediately. He sits, silent, for a moment, before he starts shaking, still frozen in place.

Sherlock hears his phone _buzz_ and, in a fit of anger and grief, hurls it against the opposite wall, where it shatters into tiny pieces. He folds over on himself, and a sob racks through his body. _John is dead._

oOoOo

Greg Lestrade is not a morning person. So when he's woken by the sound of someone hammering on the door, he curses lightly and gets up out of bed. He opens the door tiredly to come face to face with Sherlock Holmes, who looks so disheveled and broken that he steps aside instantly, all tiredness forgotten.

"What happened?" he asks, gently. Sherlock mutters something, collapsing on Greg's couch and curling into a ball.

"John… plane… crash… dead."

Greg blanches. "Sherlock…" he whispers. "Oh, god, I'm… I'm so sorry. I… I know how much he meant to you-"

Sherlock gives a hollow laugh. "The- the moment John got back, I- I was going to ask him to-to-" he breaks off, sobbing., and slowly pulls out a small black box. Greg's heart pinches at the sight of the broken man before him. He'd always known that John had been special to Sherlock, but he'd never known they'd been… involved. He supposed he'd just been turning a blind eye to the two men; after all, he'd half known all along.

oOoOo

Mycroft Holmes reads the report wordlessly. Flight no. 5912. All passengers dead. John Watson had been among them. He sighs, knowing this will tear his little brother apart. He pulls out his phone and presses his brother's number, but it goes quickly to voicemail.

Mycroft frowns, knowing this can't be good.

Of course, he'd known from the beginning about Sherlock and John's relationship. He had cameras in their flat, of course. But he'd seen in person the connection between the two of them, and, after a quick analyzing of the situation, had approved. He'd watched Sherlock in the jewelry shop not a week before, watched him choose a ring from the stand, and now feels a pang of pity for his younger brother, knowing he'd never be able to show John.

oOoOo

Sherlock turns up to the crime scene, his energy and will gone. He makes his deductions quickly and quietly, not bothering to insult Anderson on his way in and completely ignoring the new shade of lipstick Donovan was wearing.

"Oi! Freak!" Donovan hollers to him as he makes his way out. "What's wrong? Your pet finally decide to go home?"

"Donovan-" Lestrade begins, horrified.

"No," Sherlock says. "He died this morning in a plane crash, before I could give him this." Sherlock pulls the small black box from his pocket and holds it up. Donovan's smirk vanishes from her face and she stares, open mouthed at the detective. Sherlock gives her one last look, not of anger or disgust, but of true hurt, before rattling off a list of deductions and leaving the scene swiftly, not looking back and not responding to Lestrade's shouts.

oOoOo

Sherlock returns home, exhausted. He's already told Ms. Hudson, and she's locked up in her room, the poor woman. He walks over to the couch, unfeeling.

_John is dead, _he thinks. _John is dead. _

He laughs quietly to himself, repeating the mantra to himself. He fingers the box in his pocket, opening it and closing it again. It's a beautiful ring, he thinks, and one John would have particularly enjoyed. It's a simple silver ring with three diamonds embedded in the smooth band. Easy to wear, it wouldn't have gotten in the way at all. He clenches the box in his fist as he reaches the couch and collapses, clutching a pillow and sobbing.

Someone enters the flat and rushes over. Sherlock's first thought is of his brother, or Lestrade, come to apologize for Sally's behavior.

It's not.

oOoOo

"_Sherlock,_" John says, worriedly, turning the other man over. "Sherlock, it's okay. I'm right here, I'm okay."

Sherlock gapes open mouthed. "J-John?" he stammers, unable to believe his eyes. "John, you're- you're dead."

John shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "I'm not. Some guy at the airport got kicked off the flight, and he had to be back in time for a meeting. I gave him my seat and waited for the next plane. I was going to call you, but you never answered your phone." Sherlock points meekly to the other side of the room, where the remains of his phone lie scattered on the floor. "Oh," John says. He presses a kiss to Sherlock's lips gently, smiling. "I'm sorry I gave you such a scare," he says, earnestly.

Sherlock presses something into John's hands. John looks down confused. He lifts the small object up and sees that it's a small black velvet box. "Oh my god," he whispers. "_Oh my god."_

"I was planning on giving it to you when I met you at the airport," Sherlock says faintly.

John opens the box slowly and pulls out the silver ring. "Oh, _Sherlock,_" he breathes, looking at it in wonder. "Sherlock, I…" He feels tears come streaming down his face and hugs Sherlock tightly, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Sherlock's tears mingle with his own, and the two embrace, full of relief and love and happiness. They fall asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled together and lips curled up in smiles.

oOoOo

The next morning, Ms. Hudson wakes them both with a screech. Sherlock and John sit up instantly.

"Ooh, _John, dear,_" Ms. Hudson coos, bustling over and collecting him in a hug. "You gave me such a fright, you did." She eyes the band across his ring finger and claps her hands together. "Oh, Sherlock," she says. "You gave it to him, didn't you?" She laughs happily and rushes over to the door. "I'll have to make some Madelines for you two," she says.

"Quite all right, Ms. Hudson," Sherlock says, smiling. "John and I have to visit the yard. There' been another murder, and he'll want our help." Ms. Hudson smiles and nods, returning to her room.

oOoOo

Sherlock and John's hands are intertwined as they walk to the scene on the drizzly morning. Lestrade turns to greet Sherlock and promptly passes out. Sherlock bends down and catches him before he reaches the ground. Sally rushes over and pulls him up, then looks at John bewilderedly.

"I thought you said he died," she tells Sherlock, looking slightly confused. John waves a hand in front of her- the hand his ring is on- smiling.

"It was a misunderstanding," John says. "I wasn't actually on the plane to begin with."

Lestrade slowly comes to, the rain splashing in his face. Sherlock hauls him up, slightly worried. "Lestrade, are you okay?" he asks, looking the man in the eye. Lestrade nods, shortly.

"If it's any help, I'm not dead," John says helpfully. Sherlock raises an eyebrow and he chuckles.

Lestrade gives a small laugh and looks down at John's hand. "He gave it to you, then?" he asks, smiling. John nods, beaming. "Never pull a stunt like that again, John," he says. "He was completely hysterical, believe me." John frowns confused, and Sherlock suddenly looks panicked. "Came over to my house all in tears, sayin' you were dead." John feels a pang of guilt. "You two had better invite me, you hear?" he says, smiling.

"Of course," John says. "Sherlock," he continues, looking up at the detective. "Did I really-"

Sherlock cuts him off, planting a kiss on John's lips and holding him there for at least eight seconds.

"Oi! You two!" Donovan calls, smirking. "Get a room!" John laughs, and kisses Sherlock again.


End file.
